


Timeless Breath of a Moment

by Kitty_KatAllie



Series: YOI Omegaverseweek 2020 [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Also Viktor of Many Talents, Arranged Marriage as a Plot Device, But not for the main pair because i'm weak, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Historical AU, M/M, alpha yuuri, depressed viktor, omega viktor, tragic ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: For seven years, Viktor, Omega heir of the Nikiforovs, knew where his life would end. In America, with the Alpha his family had chosen for him. For seven years, his freedoms were slowly stripped away even as he waited and waited; held in stasis until his husband sent for him. On the Ship of Dreams, the unsinkable RMS Titanic, he has one last chance, and less than seven days, to remember what freedom tastes like, who he is outside of being the Omega held in waiting for an Alpha he's never met. A dancer from steerage somehow ends up in his path and it becomes less about remembering and more about choosing who he is and will be.Until that unforeseen disaster strikes and there's no longer a need to choose.(The Character Death warning is not for the main pairing.)
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri
Series: YOI Omegaverseweek 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864360
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Timeless Breath of a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 of YOIOmegaverse Week: Historical AU
> 
> Ages have been fudged for... uh reasons?:  
> Viktor & Christophe 23  
> Yuuri 19  
> Otabek 20  
> Yuri 15

Bored.

Boring

 _Bored_.

It had already been weeks of _utter_ boredom, travelling by train from St. Petersburg to Cherbourg, France. Now, here he was on the world’s most famous ship, the Ship of Dreams, and he'd barely been aboard a few hours. And he was already so so _bored_. Viktor propped his elbow on the table and leaned on his palm with a heavy, over-dramatic sigh. In the beginning, that first hour or two, everything had seemed so _amazing_. It had been like walking into a palace instead of a ship. It smelled like new paint, every linen crisp and shining, the very wood panelling gleaming like gold. Viktor had run from aft to bow, waving at the crowds along the docks in Cherbourg, touched every railing, every capstan and line that was thicker around than his waist. Glanced around wide-eyed at every kind of passenger; the fancy new clothes the first class wore as if they were ready for a portrait to be made at any moment, the poorer classes laughing and running and looking around with the same amazement he had worn even though it was already evening and dinnertime was moments away. Found the very tip of the prow, balancing his slick-soled loafers on salt-slick railings as the sea air ruffled his hair and the keel cut through the water at least 30 meters below.

Now everything so flat again. Everything looked liked a thousand other glittering shining things he had grown up with. The food ordered for him was the same mix of fine French and Russian and occasional English that he had tasted a thousand times before. The wines the same wines, the champagnes the same champagnes. Even the conversations were the same; they were on the Ship of Dreams and Countess Whoever of Wherever was gossiping about someone’s lost jewelry. Or lost child. Who knew. Most of these people spoke about their jewels more lovingly than their nanny-raised children.

Lilia threw him a sharp look, daggers all but forming in thin air when she caught sight of his elbow. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he smiled brightly as he sat up neatly. Only the arch of her eyebrow showed her utter distrust in his compliance, but she turned back to the rest of the table. A table full of people twice, and _more_ , his age. Not that it was hard, since he was barely twenty-three. Ancient for an unwed Omega socialite such as he, but younger than most of these _crème de la crème_ of Russian society.

 _Boring_. _Boring._ **_Boring_**. Viktor picked up a fork and picked at what was left of his awful salad. Hopefully the food would be more interesting in America. Even more hopefully, the Alpha waiting for him would allow him indulgences once he'd arrived. Desserts and sweets and just... _different_ dishes to try, with interesting, new flavors. He had spent most of his life with carefully regimented meals, carefully regimented schedules, carefully regimented _everything_. America was the land of the free, right? Surely this old rich as Croesus bachelor, although he might have come from Russia once upon a time, had been in America long enough to be a bit less stuffy than back home, especially after the marriage was official.

It was a ridiculous dream, knowing just how many of his crefully regimented everythings were at said-Alpha's request, but this was the place for them, wasn’t it? The RMS Titanic.

“ _Mon cher,_ you look like you’ve been turned into a statue.” The smell of sweet clove smoke proceeded one of Viktor’s oldest friends. A friend he hadn’t been able to see in person for years since he’d gone and gotten a _reputation_ , though letters had continued on and off during the years.

Viktor managed to lift one edge of his mouth to smile wanly at Christophe. Though the older folk around them twittered and gasped, Christophe and Viktor ignored it. Lilia ignored them in turn, and honestly, Viktor told himself not to put his elbow on the table for the rest of the trip in thanks.

Or maybe for the rest of the day.

“Christophe, _mon ami_ , that’s the first thing you say to me after all our time apart?” It was nice to speak French again, too, the words familiar and soft in his mouth.

“You’re a very pretty statue, but I’m not going to _lie_. I adore you too much for that,” Christophe said, lighting a new cigarette and leaning back to inhale deeply.

Viktor longed to snatch it out of his mouth and draw on it. Feel in burn in his throat, down his lungs, just so he could feel something like _warmth_. To cause a scene and a scandal by doing something so improper and so public. God, he envied Christophe’s courage. If Viktor cared just a little bit more about living… would he be as brave and fun and _interesting_ as Christophe? Or would he still be bored and depressed as well as poor? He knew for a fact thatit was thanks only to Christophe's current wealthy benefactor that his friend had been able to afford the first-class passage (or any ticket at all). 

“You’re on the Titanic, _mon cher_. Cheer up, enjoy the wine, walk the decks, watch all the deliciously enchanting people walk by,” Christophe suggested, green eyes twinkling.

“I’m an unwed, unMated Omega. Even the crew know to shuffle me right back to Lilia’s skirts the moment I’m alone,” Viktor reminded him in a drawl. Christophe took another drag of his cigarette, gaze calculating.

“Still caring about that precious reputation?”

Viktor darted a look towards Lilia before leaning closer. “You know I don’t get any of _my_ inheritance unless I get married, and to a respectful Alpha at that. If you’re just going to needle at me, you can go.”

He promptly forgot his promise and leaned on his elbow again, chin propped on his hand, eyes already dull and listless. He neither cared nor noticed the worried look mirrored on both Lilia and Christophe’s faces.

“Actually, I’ve come to tell you about something rather exciting,” Christophe said, putting out what was left of his cigarette in the crystal astray on the table. Viktor merely hummed, his left eyebrow twitching upwards for only a second. “A dance class.”

Viktor blinked and sat up slightly, his hand falling to the table. “A dance class?”

“It’s a dance troupe from the _East_. Every single dancer has their own techniques and are promising a dozen different dance classes throughout the duration of the trip to New York,” Christophe explained. “The classes themselves are bit more… European, but the performances are rumored to be exotic. Something entirely new.”

Viktor sat up entirely, eyes beginning to shine. “Oriental dances? By people _from_ the East? Not ridiculous minstrels in terrible costumes and make up?”

“Do you honestly think I would recommend offensive nonsense such as _that_? _Me_? I think not. I respect authenticity in dance too much, thanks to your lovely matron,” Christophe nodded to Lilia. “And there’s a performance and class this very evening.”

“If you’re speaking of the Okukawa Dancing Troupe, it’s quite respectable. You must take Altin with you as I have plans already. Send Okukawa my regards,” Lilia said casually.

Viktor blinked. Then, _stared_. Then, lit up, blue eyes dancing like the sea outside, looking like a child rather than a 23-year-old man on his way to get married (albeit several years later than planned). Only _Altin_? His Beta valet and permanent shadow? A boy whose stoic face scared off everyone without even trying, but was an absolute treasure and let Viktor get away with everything but murder? (And even that limit might be negotiable depending on who he wanted to murder, Viktor was pretty sure.)

“Truly?” Viktor gasped. He got to his feet so quickly the preternaturally efficient waiter almost didn’t catch his teetering chair. “When is the class?”

“There is perhaps another half an hour. We should hurry to find good seats.”

“Yes, let’s be off. Ta-ta, Madame,” Viktor brushed an air kiss to each of Lilia’s rouged cheeks, then skipped after Christophe in giddy delight. Altin appeared at his side like the shadow he was often called and followed them out.

“Is it really all right to allow your charge to be with that… that French… _trash_?” whispered one jewelled and gowned Omega in sneering Russian.

“You know the _French_. Ever since the revolution, they’re all so _bohemian_ ,” an Alpha sniffed, lip curling.

The mixture of middle-aged to older Omegas and Alphas with too much money and even more gaudy jewelry tittered and behind their “respectable” fans and gloved hands. Lilia sent the entire table a withering glare.

“Giacometti has twice the class you do, Ivanov, Sokolova. The same can be said for any of you here.” Lilia motioned for a waiter to pull back her chair. She swept away with every bit of posture and grace as at the peak of her awe-inspiring career. Every single person left at the table gaped after her in impotent fury and affront.

“I can’t believe Lilia said I had permission to come! This seems even more scandalous than… than _you_ ,” Viktor whispered as they edged into a room already half full of happily chattering people.

Christophe chuckled. “The leader of the Troupe was one of the few Japanese women ever to dance at the Bolshoi, so your Madame must have met her personally. She was never allowed on stage during an actual performance, but she was allowed to attend classes and dance in small, private recitals. She was also one of only a handful of Alphas.”

Viktor felt his heart beat faster in real excitement. This woman was apparently a legend and he had no idea.

“But the real draw is her _protégé_ , apparently.”

“Why?”

“Oh, we’ll just have to wait and see, won't we?” 

Viktor gave Christophe his most unimpressed Look, but Christophe only chuckled.

“Just what are _you two_ doing here?” a young, furious, and familiar voice snarled. Viktor startled in place and cast around his gaze to find his diminutive but constantly enraged cousin. Not that it took long, as the tiny blond stomped his way towards them.

If Viktor were the praying kind, he would pray that Yuri Presented a Beta. No one needed Yuri Plisetsky going through either an Alpha or Omega Presentation. Or the life thereafter.

“I’ve been to every class today, _mon petit_. This is the first time you haven’t ignored me,” Christophe teased. Yuri _tch_ ed loudly in disgust.

“Christophe brought me, with Madame’s permission, so don’t even start, kitten,” Viktor said, patting Yuri’s head. He snarled wordlessly and slapped Viktor’s hands away. “Look, I brought Altin. Altin, please protect me.” Viktor shoved the scowling twenty-year-old forward.

“Don’t push him around like that!”

“The show is starting,” Altin and Christophe said almost at the same time.

Yuri cussed under his breath at Viktor, who merely winked. His cousin bristled all over before storming away. About a meter away. Then, stood feet hip-width apart, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Viktor and Christophe exchanged amused glances (it was _so good_ to be around Christophe again, like the separation had never happened; perhaps sending letters back and forth all this time _had_ helped).

The lights dimmed. Viktor balanced on his toes, his childhood ballet lesson re-asserting themselves, and he placed a hand on Christophe’s shoulder. Electric lamps with sconces of different colored glasses bloomed to life. The whole room was bathed in a collage of colors, melting into each other at the edges to create more hues and shades against the stark white walls. The troupe of dancers, most of them wearing garments that were tight around their torsos with scarves draped over their shoulders, the men wearing short trousers that were wrapped interestingly around their hips, nimbly made their way onto stage. They were already dancing, the beating of the drums and flutes barely keeping up. The rush of the music, the synchronicity of each step and movement of it, the vibrancy of the lights, took Viktor’s breath away and his hand squeezed Christophe’s shoulder. Although their clothes were mostly pale, made molten rainbows by the stained glass lights, one dancer stood out in bold, startling crimson and golden embroidery that sparkled and glittered with every movement. The circle of dancers paired off, smiling and almost laughing as they danced, arms graceful and _different_ , bodies dipping with all the exacting grace, mincing footwork like that of a ballet. It was so _strange_ , though, so uniquely different. The music sent his blood crashing through his body, making him want to laugh, to jump up on stage and dance with them.

The lead dancers were two young men, the one in startling crimson and gold and another in simple white and blue, were mesmerizing in particular. They moved with the ease of long time partners in the midst of a circle of raised arms, barely glancing at the other as they seemed to add their own twists and spins. A dance they had done a thousand times together and still enjoyed if the radiant smile on the darker, smaller man’s face meant anything. The slightly taller man, with hair and eyes just as dark, didn’t smile quite as wide, but the same joy shined from him. They managed to move ever faster while still fitting perfectly with the tune; arms twined and reached through the air, steps bringing them closer and back with footwork that made Viktor dizzy trying to follow. They seemed to be in a world of their own, somehow matching the music and the group, but also breaking free into someone utterly their own. Wild and vibrant and _free_. The way the one in blue moved, the grace of his hands and arms, the way he lifted onto his toes and chin, reminded Viktor of his own training in ballet...

They laughed when the song came to an end and the rejoined the other dancers. All the pairs lined up to bow with flourishes as the crowd cheered. A woman in a robe made of several layers and wide belt stepped up. She pressed her hands to her thighs and bowed low. Several in the audience bowed back, and she was grinning as she flicked long brown hair over her shoulder, the meekness obviously a front. When she spoke, her voice was confident and forceful, easy to understand despite with the unfamiliar accent.

“What you saw here was a dance from Siam, called the ramwong. Phichit-kun, did I say it correctly this time?” she asked over her shoulder. The young man in red winked.

“That’s Minako Okukawa, the one your Madame mentioned,” Christophe whispered. Viktor’s eyes widened.

“Much improved, sensei.” The crowd laughed politely at the joke, some of them with more gusto, as if this were a joke they were expecting. “Though, what me and Yuuri did was something a little different.” He dragged his partner forward with an arm wrapped around the taller man’s neck.

Viktor felt his heart skip a beat at the shy, laughing smile on the taller man’s face. He ignored it to focus on the leader of the troupe and her glittering _protégé_.

“This is the first time we performed the ramwong. Please, let us thank our new teacher, Phichit Chulanont,” Okukawa-sensei said, turning to bow again. The dancers, and quickly the audience, bowed, then applauded as the smiling young man beamed happily.

“Will you be teaching it in a class!?” called out a voice from the audience.

“We will teach it just now,” Okukawa said with a smirk.

“We’re going to learn it!?” Viktor gasped, eyes shining. Around them, everyone cheered, turning to chatter at their friends or family.

The dancers moved off the stage and began to split into the audience. They broke the fairly large audience into slightly smaller group of six or eight. A few people waved and called out for Phichit, who seemed to be darting from group to group rather than sticking to one, but the one in white and blue was also being called out to rather frequently. At some point, Yuri had appeared at Viktor’s side next to Altin, whom had never left. Yuri was scowling, but his eyes were on the young man in white and blue. As the man neared, smiling at someone who called out his name— Katsuki— Yuri’s eyes lit up excitedly, only to turn away and scowl when Katsuki turned their way.

The dancer paused mid-step when he caught sight of Yuri, and a small smirk quirked up the side of his mouth. And that’s when Viktor finally _looked_ , didn’t ignore that strange blip from before. He’d been enamored with the glittering golden and crimson outfit of the other dancer, hoping he’d get close enough that Viktor could get a better look, but what were clothes compared to that smirk? Exquisitely dark brown eyes, black hair barely tamed by pomade, and the tiny, amused smirk; all together it was heart stopping.

“Yurio-san, it’s nice to see you again. Is this your friend, Mr. Beka?” the dancer asked, eyes on Altin whom was hovering at the younger teen’s back.

Yuri _tch_ ed loudly and tossed his blond hair back. “That’s not my name.”

“Yuri _o_? Is that what they call you? Do you have _friends_ , Yurachka?”

The glare Yuri threw him was downright poisonous, but the dancer’s brown eyes widened impossibly wide. Viktor just smiled brightly at them both.

“Oh. G-Good evening,” the dancer said softly.

Viktor tossed his hair out of his eye and smiled a little bit wider. “Good evening. I’m Viktor.”

“Vitya?” the dancer said, glancing at Yuri. The teen rolled his eyes.

“Da. This is Vitya, but you have to call him Nikiforov. And this is Mr. _Altin_ , but Beka’s fine.” Altin nodded once. “And you know that ashtray over there.” He waved at Christophe.

“Mr. Geemetti,” Katsuki said with a slight bow. He turned to Viktor and bowed again. “Mr. Nikiforov.”

“It’s Giacometti,” Christophe corrected with a quiet chuckle.

Viktor reached out to touched his fingers under Katsuki’s chin. “You don’t have to bow to me _or_ call me by that name. Just Viktor is fine.”

Their gazes met again. As usual, Viktor still had his evening gloves on; they weren’t even touching with bare skin that slightest bit. But he was reminded of that awful feeling when he had fallen out of a too tall tree in the garden. _Before_ it was awful. When his stomach swooped upwards into his chest and his heart thudded in his throat, and he felt like gravity had forgotten he’d existed for a long, timeless breath of a moment.

“What are you _doing_? Everyone’s dancing already. Are you here to teach us or not, Yuuri?” Yuri demanded angrily, smacking Viktor’s hand away.

Viktor glanced between them in confusion, but Katsuki was laughing a little.

“Of course, forgive me, Yurio-san.”

“ _Ugh_ , you’re the worst.” But he didn’t stomp away.

“Oh. _Yuuri_ and Yuri _o_ ,” Viktor said, pointing at each of them.

“You’re not allowed to call me that, you shi-”

“Let’s get in the position, yes?” Yuuri interrupted Yuri’s snarl ( _Yurio_ , Viktor thought in amusement).

“Mm, yes, and what _position_ is that, Mr. Katsuki?” Christophe drawled, his gaze slowly dragging up and down the length of Yuuri’s body. Viktor cut Christophe a dark glance almost as hot as the furious one Yuri sent him. Christophe merely smirked and held up his hands in faux-surrender.

Yuuri seemed completely oblivious as he carefully, without touching, led each person to stand in a small circle. He also refused to make eye contact with Viktor the entire time, no matter how often Viktor fumbled (or purposefully made a mistake). By the end of the short class, Viktor had actually started having _fun_. Enjoying exercising his muscles and _sweating_ in a way he hadn’t since his ballet lessons had been rudely ended after his sixteenth birthday. The most exercise he got was walking long distances on his own estate. Yuri smiled a few times, tiny pleased smirks, when Yuuri complimented the position of his arms or how quickly he memorized a step. Altin was a little too stiff and uncomfortable, missing cues when he was surreptitiously eyeing the people around them in mild suspicious, but relaxing slightly when Yuri turned to him with a blazing grin. Christophe left some of his overtly sexual energy behind, instead using his considerable charm to make them all laugh at their own mistakes or when Viktor’s energy flagged too soon. Their odd number meant Yuuri mostly watched and corrected so the four of them could dance properly.

Every time Yuuri gently helped him, barely grazing with his fingertips the thick fabric of his coat to re-position his arm, Viktor’s heart did that ridiculous _blip_. Just to speed up painfully whenever the dancer smiled his approval, eyes always politely lowered.

The music that been constantly playing ended and the groups broke up with various loud protests or applause.

“Oh, it’s over?” Viktor gasped through a grin, hands on his knees.

A hand reached out with a small, threadbare, but clean cloth. “Here. It’s scentless, I promise,” said Yuuri with a small smile at Viktor’s hesitance.

“Thank you, Mr. Katsuki.”

“Please, _Yuuri_. Mr. Katsuki sounds very odd,” he begged with a laugh, his ears and cheeks endearingly red.

“ _Yuu_ ri, you’re a fantastic teacher,” Viktor said as he dabbed at his face and neck, hoping the bit of face powder he wore wasn’t marking the cloth.

“N-no, no! I’m not! M-Minako-sensei is the best teacher, and Phichito-kun is much better at this sort of thing!” Yuuri exclaimed, hands waving wildly.

“So why do you have your own classes and _Phichito-kun_ doesn’t?” Yuri asked scathingly. Yuuri’s face turned pink and then bowed.

“I should go. It was a pleasure. Um, Mr. Ni- Um, Mr. Viktor, I hope to see you again,” Yuuri said quickly.

Viktor handed over the towel. “Hopefully, as soon as possible.”

Finally, Yuuri’s brown eyes darted over Viktor’s face, their eyes meeting. Held. Then, he smiled, a small, timid thing, and nodded once. He turned away back to the stage where the dancers were congregating once more, constantly pausing and bowing with apologies as people came to speak with him.

“He’s popular,” Viktor murmured, a finger pressed to his lips. He hadn’t met a Beta with so much innate charisma. Though, he hadn’t met many Betas in general. Altin was the only one he knew well at all.

“Of course he is. He’s the only one other than Okukawa that can probably teach any dance you could ever name. If he’d stop being such a buggering _moron_ and act like it, maybe he’d be worth wasting time on,” Yuri scoffed, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“I think he’s worth more than enough as he is,” Viktor said softly, thoughtfully. “When does he have classes tomorrow?”

“I can get you a schedule, _mon cher_. Though, truly you should have that already,” Christophe said with a laugh. “Hopefully you’ll be able to get in at the last minute, since he _is_ the special _protégé_ _,_ I mentioned.

“Oh, I thought the other one was, the one in the nice clothes. I didn’t think I would meet anyone so interesting,” Viktor replied without an ounce of shame.

“ _Ugh._ ” Yuri stomped away.

“We should also head back soon. Your curfew, sir,” Altin murmured quietly. Viktor sighed.

Christophe wrapped an arm around Viktor’s shoulders and led him towards the door. As they walked, Christophe asking Altin how he managed Yuri so well, Viktor glanced behind him. Across the room, Yuuri was standing beside Phichit Chulanont, the hand towel Viktor had used draped around his neck, both hands holding it in place as he spoke to the group with an easy confidence he hadn’t shown in their earlier group. With a unfamiliar heat in his chest and belly, Viktor wondered if Yuuri Katsuki could smell Viktor's scent on that towel, if he liked the way Viktor looked and spoke and _smelled_. Even Betas could respond to Omega pheromones, right?

But he didn’t look Viktor’s way again, and that just wasn’t good enough.

* * *

Viktor stepped into the small classroom about an hour before lunch. He was glad the class meant he would miss most the chaos and mess of picking up the last passangers from Ireland. Yesterday the chaos had been fun, today it sounded exhausting. As he walked in, he immediately noticed it wasn’t the same room of last evening’s performance and class. It was much smaller and intimate, the smell of paint stronger in such a small space, which was probably why the door was left open. The shining wooden floor was bare, and a bank of mirrors gleamed bright enough to blind across from the windows along the wall by the door. There were a few gym equipment pieces moved to the far side of the room, where there was a just a bit of shade. There was a set of fans under metal cages connected to rubber belts still bolted to the ground close to the door near the windows.

Quite a few people were already there, crowded around a short-ish person holding an armload of neatly folded towels. Viktor stopped dead to see _Yuri_ among the crowd, actually looking all of fifteen with his excited eyes and wide grin. Viktor hurried across the room to see that the entire class was surrounding a short, mousy-looking man in wide, round spectacles, his face flushed and his hands clutching the towels. There was a faint scent of Alpha, but Viktor couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Unlike usual, the scent didn’t make him feel on guard, or even vaguely anxious. He felt… _warm_. 

“Our last student is here. We can get started,” the man in spectacles said with an air of relief. Viktor opened his mouth to ask about where Yuuri was, when the sunlight fell from the lenses and warm brown eyes met Viktor’s. A familiar, timid smile curved up his lips and Viktor was left wondering how in the world did he not recognize him? “Mr. Nikiforov, you came. Minako-sensei said I needed to take particular care of you.”

Viktor’s cheeks went pink and he couldn’t come up with a response. He _always_ had some kind of response! Even if it was just a _wink_!

“Yes, though… I remember asking for you to call me Viktor, or Vitya, if you like,” he managed to cobble together in his awkward English. It didn’t sound half so pleasant as Yuuri’s.

Yuri made crude retching sounds off to the side. _Yuuri_ flushed an adorable shade of red and that faint Alpha scent got stronger. Several of the students blushed, pressing close to each other as if to hold each other up.

“N-no, that’s t-too familiar. V-Viktor. I can do that— call you that.”

Feeling a bit more in control, Viktor bowed and winked. “That’s more than enough for now.”

Yuuri cleared his throat and placed the towels on a small table with a gramophone. He then turned to the class with a brisk clap. “Everyone! Places! … please.”

The class Christophe had recommended, since he knew for sure it was one Yuuri taught, was traditional Spanish dances. Viktor’s eyebrows had risen _high_ at that, he’d been expecting something Japanese, at least, but Christophe assured him it was correct. And then smirked like someone with a delicious secret, and Viktor had refused to take the bait. Now, Viktor wished he had asked more questions. For something similar to a ballroom dance, Viktor had never been more flummoxed in his life. Everyone had to pair, but each person in the pair had to do something so different from their partner. The follower had so many flourishes, and the leader had to be able to shift weight and balance in smooth, easy motions. It felt _risqu_ _é_ and _sensual_ even with all his clothes on.

Viktor loved it as he panted and barely kept up. By the end of the class, Yuuri somehow picked him out of the class to be an example, praising Viktor’s easy grace and balance, smiling down at him when he too easily dipped Viktor over one leg, a hand on Viktor’s thigh and upper back. When Viktor was returned to his partner, a sweet giggling Italian Omega girl, his thigh _burned_ where Yuuri had touched him. Yuri glared sheer murder across the room from where he was dancing with a brown-haired Asian boy somehow even smaller than _Yuri_.

When was the last time someone had touched him? Christophe? Whom he hadn’t had in his life for _literal_ years? Lilia’s fingers combing through his hair the few times she allowed herself moments of softness for her ward? Altin helping to dress him, perfunctory and practiced? Viktor could count on one hand the amount of casual touching he received, most of them purely business-like and over quickly. Only Christophe’s touches had lingered, friendly and warm.

Yuuri’s palm had surely left behind a mark. Something permanent within that single moment. His skin suddenly remembering what _touch_ meant and craving for more.

Class ended in a blur, but most of the students lagged behind, all wanting one more word, one more minute, with their soft-spoken instructor. Viktor hovered in the back, trying not to bite his lip as he desperately thought of a way to stay behind a little bit longer.

“Here.” Viktor jumped as Altin stepped up. He placed a glass corked bottle in Viktor’s hand. “Water. He’s most likely thirsty and he’s given all the water to the students.”

“He?” Viktor repeated dumbly. Altin just raised an eyebrow and nodded towards Yuuri. “Oh. _Oh_! Thank you! You’re a genius,” he whispered in fervent Russian.

“I shall be await you outside. Just there.” Altin pointed to the railing across the walkway through the open door. Viktor huffed and nodded before he made his way to where Yuuri was kindly trying to extract himself from his group of admirers.

“Yuuri, would you like to share with me? My first lesson has been wonderful, but very tiring,” Viktor said holding up the green bottle.

“I don’t drink alcohol, um, not while on the ship…” Yuuri admitted sheepishly.

“Oh. I don’t think it’s alcohol. I’m not allowed to drink that,” Viktor said, glancing at the bottle. And missing Yuuri’s baffled frown. “It’s water. I’m sure of it.”

“In that case, yes, I would love to,” Yuuri said with a smile. There were several bitten off sighs and Yuuri glanced around with raised eyebrows. “You all sound very tired. You should eat something and get some sleep. Go on now.”

“Yes, Yuuri-sensei,” they all chorused, shooting daggers at Viktor. He merely smiled at the infants. For once, he was glad to be his age, even if it meant he was something unwanted and shelved for later. Yuri glared at him as he walked towards the door, mouthing some obscene Russian word Viktor refused to notice.

“Should I call you that? Yuuri-sensei?” Viktor asked when the last of them had gone and just the two of them were left in the room. Yuuri was wiping his face with one of the towels, but he gestured towards the wall where they could sit.

“Please, no. I’m not really a teacher, that’s Minako-sensei, not me,” Yuuri said quickly as he slid to the ground.

“You did a good job of it today,” Viktor pointed out as he, with much more care, sat neatly, legs discreetly tucked to his side. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and turned.

Only to freeze. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as his nostrils actually flared. Yuuri’s brows slowly lowered, confusion and worry warring on his face.

“Alpha. _You’re_ the Alpha,” Viktor realized.

Yuuri blinked, then began to scramble to his feet, stuttering apologies. Viktor’s hand shot out and gripped Yuuri’s wrist. They both went still, Viktor staring up at him as Yuuri balanced awkwardly half-crouched.

“I thought you knew,” Yuuri managed to say.

“I… knew one was here… but I couldn’t figure out who. I didn’t think Madame Lilia would have allowed me to come-”

Yuuri gracefully knelt in front of him, that frown back again. “You keep talking about _allowing_. I thought rich folks like you could do anything you wanted?”

Viktor curled forward, hand clapping over his mouth to hold back the onslaught of giggles. “Rich folks? Like me?” he wheezed.

“You are first-class, ne? Yurio-san told me you’re his cousin,” Yuuri said, now downright bewildered.

“Yurio? That's right, Yura! Da, my _family_ is wealthy,” Viktor said. His giggles subsided into occasional hiccups and he fell back against the wall. “Some of those taboo… things,” he waved a hand, his English failing him, “ _is_ from my class. The expectations of a Nikiforov Omega. However, much of it is my fiancé’s very exacting standards for me. Lists of rules and allowances that were my sixteenth anniversary gift.”

“Anniversary? Do you mean… a birthday?”

“ _Da, da_ , that one.”

“How old are you now?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow at Yuuri. Whom immediately seemed to realize his mistake and flushed bright red.

“S-Sumimasen, ah, sorry. I should drink instead of talk,” Yuuri muttered, picking up the bottle where Viktor had dropped it. He tugged the cork off and took a gulp. Viktor couldn’t help but watch Yuuri’s throat. In Russia, he’d been forced to wear a collar. It was only since stepping aboard the Titanic that he’d been able to take the horrid thing off, put on his coveted suits, and lock all his skirts and heels away. (Well, he kept out some of his heels. Those white kid boots would look stunning with his navy suit.)

He had never been so close to an unMated Alpha before. Never one with a bare neck, his own suddenly feeling naked and bare, too.

“If you tell me, I shall tell you,” Viktor said as Yuuri lowered the bottle and gasped.

“Eh?”

“Your age.”

Yuuri blinked and then smiled. “All right. Nineteen.”

“Nineteen!? And you have already been around the world? Learned dances from Spain and Europe and all across Asia?”

“Your age?” Yuuri countered neatly.

“Twenty-three. I’m _ancient_ ," Viktor confessed with the back of his hand to his forehead and his eyes closed.

Yuuri laughed, his head falling forward and his hair falling over his eyes. “ _What_?”

“I’m unmarried, unMated, I don’t even have a ring. My papa had two children by my age," Viktor replied. His humor dimmed. "I was number three and the only one to live past two months."

Silence fell and Viktor cursed himself to breaking the camaraderie they had been building. Yuuri rolled the bottle between his hands, fingernails tapping on the glass randomly.

"Are you going to America now for them? Your fiancé?” the dancer asked in a quiet voice. 

Relieved, Viktor sighed and nodded. “Yes. He’s been in America since before I was born.” He smiled at Yuuri's small, sharp inhale. “He emigrated there with his family as a child. He’s older than I, but not by that much.”

“You said it that way on purpose," Yuuri accused with narrowed eyes.

“Indeed. I am touched that you seemed to be offended for me.”

Silence fell again and Yuuri passed over the bottle. “There’s no cup.”

“Ah. You’re right. _C’est la vie_.” He sipped at the bottle and wondered what Yuuri’s mouth tasted like.

Heat crawled over his cheeks, and his eyes widened. What. _What_ did he just think? He couldn’t just _think_ that about… a stranger!? A dancer younger than himself and _not his_ _fiancé_. He needed to get a handle on himself _and_ his illicit little thoughts. 

“I should, um, get the equipment moved. I promised to put it all to rights before lunch ends,” Yuuri said, getting to his feet.

“I can help!” Viktor says eagerly, almost spilling water across the floor in his haste to rise. He corked the bottle quickly and set it on the table.

“Oh, no, no, you don’t have to, you should go to lunch, maybe take a bath?”

“Are you saying I _smell bad_?” Viktor asked with a sharp rise of his eyebrow.

“Definitely _not_.”

Viktor actually stepped back at the vehemence of Yuuri’s reply. He promptly turned cherry-red from hairline to his collar as Viktor smiled, far too pleased.

“Please, tell me how I can help, _Yuu_ ri-sensei.”

Yuuri sputtered, shook his head, and then hurried over to the gym equipment. Together, they moved a stationary saddle to where the caged fans were sitting. As Yuuri reconnected the belts, Viktor dragged over the mats and put them where Yuuri directed him from over his shoulder. Within a few moments, Yuuri seemed to have forgotten his uneasiness, his tone sharp when Viktor tried to lift a set of dumbbells on his own. The _entire_ set, which weighed a lot more than it looked. Laughing when Viktor struggled to hook in a punching bag and managed hit himself in the face with it.

“You punch it with your _fists_ , Viktor, not your face,” he teased. _Teased!_ Viktor rubbed at his nose and beamed.

“Is there anything else to do?” Viktor asked.

“No, that should be all. A staff member will come for the jug and towels,” Yuuri said as he latched the gramophone shut and lifted it without a grunt.

“How about we-”

“So this is where you’ve gone to, Vitya?” Lilia’s sharp voice cut through the warm afternoon sunlight. Viktor held himself up straight, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead and out of his eyes.

“Technically, I’ve never left,” Viktor replied blandly.

“Hm.” Lilia turned to a concerned and baffled Yuuri. “This is he, my dear old friend’s _protégé_. Katsuki, is it?” she asked, this time using French. Yuuri startled, then bowed.

“S-sorry, my French is not good,” Yuuri said in that same language, halting and uncomfortable. Viktor gasped in joyful surprise.

“You speak French?!”

“He just did,” Lilia snapped at Viktor. He felt himself deflate and looked through the windows to the bue horizon outside. “I speak only French and Russian, so I’m afraid, we’ll have to subject ourselves to your terrible accent.”

“It’s _charming_ ,” Viktor disagreed quickly. Yuuri frowned as he tried to keep up.

“Ah, no. Madame is correct. My accent is terrible, but I will go now.”

“Go? Whatever for?” Lilia asked, eyebrows rising. “We’re already late for the meal and I refuse to wait any longer. Vitya, bring your teacher. Altin, take the case.”

Altin moved quickly forward to take the gramophone from Yuuri’s lax grip. Viktor held out an elbow for Yuuri and winked.

“Usually the Alpha would lead, but I can help this time.”

Yuuri glanced down at the elbow, then carefully, with shaking fingers set his hand on Viktor’s arm. The entire walk to Deck B and the private suite of the Nikiforov and Plisetsky family. There, at the patio furniture set up outside their rooms, one of their maids was carefully wiping the plates and silverware. When she saw them come, she bowed and hurried back into the room. A moment later, Yuri walked out and froze.

“Yuuri!? What’s _he_ doing here? With _you_?” Yuri demanded, pointing between the three of them, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“It sounds as if he doesn’t want me here,” Yuuri said with a small smirk.

“It does not matter, nor is it your business to question _me_ , young Yuri. Sit and act like a gentleman.”

Yuri flung himself into a chair, snarling in annoyance. Yuuri hurried forward to hold out a chair for Viktor, making him smile up at the flustered Alpha. At Lilia’s quiet throat clearing, Yuuri rushed around to hold out her chair as well, then took his own chair slowly, looking towards Altin who was already walking into the suite. Probably to set up Viktor's bath and change of clothing.

“Is he… not going to eat with us?” Yuuri asked Viktor quietly.

“He’ll eat inside while they’re serving us,” Viktor replied just as quietly. Yuuri frowned.

“At least you have some manners benefiting an Alpha, Katsuki,” Lilia interrupted as she waved for the maids to bring out the lunch. “I’ll excuse your inappropriate dress on account of the circumstances.”

Yuuri frowned, his mouth moving as he spoke the words quietly to himself.

“She means you should be wearing stupid clothes like mine, but she doesn’t actually care this time,” Yuri said loudly. Yuuri smiled at Yuri in thanks, making the teen flush and huff.

“This time?” Viktor asked, lighting up excitedly.

Lilia waited for the small salads to be placed in front of them before she spoke again, “I have asked Okukawa for private dance lessons from Katsuki. For Viktor, during the duration of the voyage.”

“P-Private lessons? _For Vitya_? He’s not allowed to dance anymore! His stupid husband said so!”

“Fiancé,” Viktor correctly sharply.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “ _I_ should get private lessons.”

“I don’t _teach_ private lessons,” Yuuri said in some confusion.

“You _didn’t_ , now you do. Eat your salad. We’re having some nice beef bourguignon today and I’d hate for it to be served cold.”

“I… I haven’t had that in a while. It sounds delicious,” Yuuri said with a glance towards the other two.

“Ah yes, Okukawa said you’ve been travelling with her for several years. When and where did you stay in France?”

Throughout the lunch, Lilia dominated the conversation. She, without bothering to disguise it, interrogated Yuuri, forcing each word out of his shy mouth until he was offering stories on his own. Viktor hoped he was as encouraged by Viktor’s enthusiastic responses as much as by Lilia’s questions. He couldn’t help the gasps and the smiles, his own questions falling from him as Yuuri spoke of all the places and people and things he’d seen. Paris and Cannes, Athens, Rome and Florence, Madrid and Barcelona. Even more interesting, the places in Asia he’d been, Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok, Beijing and Shanghai. Places Viktor barely recognized the names of. Almost all his stories revolved around his teacher and her antics, and some of them involving that Siamese boy, Phichit. As many words as Lilia managed to extract, so few of them actually seemed personal, about _Yuuri_ himself. 

However, he truly bloomed, brown eyes sparkling, when Lilia asked about his hometown, where Okukawa was also from. He smiled as he described the hot springs and cherry blossoms and small beaches where black-tailed gulls flew.

“How could you leave a beautiful place like that?” Viktor asked on a sigh, chin on his hand.

“I wanted to dance,” Yuuri said, his eyes on his empty plate. They had somehow moved through all the courses, straight to the cheese and fruit, and Viktor barely remembered the taste of one of his favorite dishes. He was too busy relishing all of Yuuri’s wonderful stories. “Minako-sensei, that is Okukawa-sensei, she wanted me to come with her and I couldn’t say no. My family was worried, travelling the world, through Europe, to dance, it seemed so… _modern_ and dangerous. But we’re not a very… wealthy family. I could make more money this way, and send it home as often as I could.”

“And you could dance,” Yuri said eagerly. “You _should_. You should be _famous_ for it. Who cares about some country nowhere town?”

Yuuri smiled and shook his head. “I don't want to be famous, but yes. The chance to dance and learn more about dancing was important to me.”

“Can you do Japanese dances, though?” Viktor interrupted when Yuri’s mouth opened again. The teen grumbled and sunk back in his chair, shoving an orange slice in his mouth.

“Yes, but Minako-sensei is much better.”

“Can you teach _me_? Would it be inappropriate?” Viktor asked, leaning forward.

“N-no, I… I guess not, if Madame says the lessons are already planned?” He glanced towards Lilia. She stirred a spoonful of raspberry jam into her tea. Yuuri chose cherry and stirred it into his own cup.

Viktor’s eyebrows rose. Yuuri hadn’t mentioned visiting Russia, but he must have.

“I would prefer that you practice ballet, of course. Just enough to make sure he’s remembered it, but after a few warm-ups, the rest of the lesson is completely up to you, Katsuki.”

“We can do that, Madame.”

“You can do classic ballet?” Yuri asked around a mouthful of more oranges. Lilia _tsk_ ed.

“Manners, Yura.” The teen rolled his eyes— from an angle that Lilia couldn't see. 

“Yes, I can. I lived in Paris the longest, for almost two years.”

“How did you have so much time? You’re only nineteen,” Viktor exclaimed. Yuuri shrugged.

“We left Japan when I was thirteen. Minako-sensei wanted me to have some experience on stage before I Presented. We weren’t sure what I would be, but Minako-sensei was worried I would have the same problems she did. Asian and Alpha both work against you in ballet.”

“Yes, sadly she came too late." Lilia's lips pursed, displeasure clear on her face. "I suppose you had a few performances during your time there?” 

Yuuri flushed and ducked his head. “Not many. I was young.”

“Mhm.” Lilia smirked. Yuuri’s blush got even redder, but neither continued to speak about his career in ballet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Viktor asked as the table was cleared and they all stood. Yuuri glanced towards Lilia.

“It’ll be at 8 a.m. sharp. Don’t waste the opportunity, Vitya,” Lilia said, her green eyes cutting toward Viktor.

It was then that Viktor understood. This was her gift to him. A wedding gift and a good-bye gift. Each indulgence now, each moment of freedom, was because soon enough he would be permanently caged. Once they landed in New York, the wedding planning would take off without a pause. Just months after that, Lilia and Yuri would return to Russia.

Without him. Only Altin would stay, a single tenuous link to his life in Russia.

As boring as it had been, at least he had still been Viktor Nikiforov. Soon, he would be someone entirely new in an entirely new country and home. A stranger in his own body. Viktor abruptly left the room, unable to look at any of them. At Yuuri’s confusion, at Yura’s angry pity, or Lilia’s carefully hidden concern. No one had seen him weep since he was sixteen years old, and he wouldn't be allow himself to change that now. 

**Author's Note:**

> I got SUPER busy last weekend and was super exhausted by the time Monday came back around. So, of course, I finally didn't get around to finishing this chapter for a bloody week (it's been half done since last Friday). This will NOT be following the movie, but I may borrow some scenes from it ;p I rewatched the movie today and changed up some scenes, too. It's a bit more in the Mood of the movie. I probably WON'T add the sex scene, but I also haven't written any Rated E scenes this week, so if y'all want me to... maybe I can be persuaded LOL.
> 
> I hope no one was offended by the use of "exotic" and "Orient". 1912 + first class means... well... Viktor and even Christophe wouldn't see those words as having the negative connotations we know now.


End file.
